Got another note from Kevin Lewis. He's on a roll. I reproduce the email, with emendation or comment.

As I write this, President Obama is lodged several hundred yards away from the house where I spent much of the summer during my childhood. No, my family isn't rich; several families got together to buy the house at a rock-bottom price in the 1970s. Over the years, many people visited, including the infamous legal minds of Robert Bork and Jeffrey Rosen. The house is now owned -- and has been massively upgraded -- by Bill Ruger (as in Ruger firearms).

I'd also like to use this opportunity to give the GOP some free advice. First, as I've said before, you do NOT want to do so well in the mid-term elections that you gain clear majorities in both houses of Congress. There is a strong negative feedback loop built into the current political environment, such that a solidly Republican Congress before the 2012 elections will probably make it easier for Obama to get re-elected, effectively securing his policies. The GOP should target a slim majority in one house and a slim minority in the other -- in other words, enough to block but not enough to be seen as dominant. Second, with Obama currently at 40-50% approval, the GOP seems to think they have a good chance of beating him in 2012, but this is still wishful thinking. Instead, it's likely the GOP will re-enact the 2004 election in reverse -- nominating a less-than-compelling candidate to go up against a crisis-tested president.

Obviously, anything can happen between now and November 2012, and Republicans could nominate someone with broad appeal. But will they? IMHO, here are the probabilities (first number is for winning nomination, second number is for beating Obama):

Friday, July 16, 2010

Got there, went on a tour, then had a simply amazing lunch. Early in the tour we walked past some of the vineyards. Inside the actual bodegas, which are huge, it's pretty dark. The best quality "Reserva" bottles are stacked this way both to preserve the corks and to keep them safe(r) in case of earthquake. The most recent earthquake broke a lot, but SR is back in business now. This is a picture of the oak barrels for the first aging, before the bottles. The pic is a little blurry, because I shut the shutter to 1.5 seconds because it was so dark. We got the EYM some sporty bike gloves, because the crutches were giving him blisters. The room where we had lunch is spectacular. It is the Dona Paula restaurant. We were hungry. And, then, we weren't. Tremendous food. Kevin and I split a lobster appetizer, and then I had bistec a la pobre. Then dessert. Then we staggered outside for espresso, and to make this movie.Then we went to the Museo Andino, which was the collection of pre-Columbian and more recent artifacts of the previous owner of SR. A big day in the Maipo Valley.

When I was a lad, "Job Openings for Economists" was expensive and sent by snail-mail. It has long gone to an electronic version, but the process of handling and evaluating applications remains (in my experience at least) paper heavy.

Now VOXEU and Walras.com are promoting a joint job market site that, among other things, allows reference letter writers to post their letters online (which is great, I love doing references for law school applicants and just writing one letter and posting it to their centralized site), and search committee members to post evaluations of candidates (presumably only for the other search committee members to see).

I hope this catches on in the US. I may be hopelessly trapped in the backwoods and backwaters, but I've never heard of Walras.com before? Any US econ recruiters out there that are already using that site?

This year: Stress fracture in his left foot, quite an ouchy one. He ran home, down the mountain, from UDD to the apartment. That's about 8 km. Not that hard a run, 15 deg C, downhill most of the way, sunny. But he apparently caused a stress fracture, and then, for good measure, showered and changed clothes and went to Metro and then walk to the home of poet Pablo Neruda. He walked at least another 7-8 km, wearing very flat minimalist Keds loafers.

We got him some good crutches. I hope that if he stays off the foot for the three or four days, REALLY staying off the foot, no weight on it, it will heal up enough so that he can walk a little, at least.

In the meantime, he is crutching away. This is very useful, actually. It is hard to cross at Santiago cross walks. (locally known as "The Kill Zone"). Juan Pablo and I push Kevin out into the intersection, and the cars stop. Even Santiaguenos won't hit a kid on crutches. We are thinking of renting him out to groups, to help with the crossing. You can get him cheap!

And this way when we fly back, we'll be able to get on the plane early. "Look, Tiny Tim here and I need some extra time. Do you mind?"

There is a big interwebs kerfuffle brewing on manufacturing jobs, currency and financial account manipulation and free trade. Economist's View has a post with links and some analysis that is well worth reading.

Here are some points to consider:

1. The current global trading system is very very far away from free. To criticize any current outcome and blame it on free trade is simply incorrect (If you don't believe me, take a look at "Travels of a T-shirt" or "Misadventures of the Most Favored Nations").

2. The dollar doesn't have to adjust for relative prices to adjust. The relevant relative price is the real exchange rate. US exports can become more competitive with a fixed nominal exchange rate simply by US prices rising more slowly than those of their trading partners. Higher productivity growth in the US would produce this effect.

3. Everybody has a comparative advantage. Statements like "America apparently has little left in the comparative advantage department" are non sequiturs.

4. I do agree that financial account manipulation should be discouraged, but it is way too simplistic to say it's good for China and bad for the US. It's good for US consumers, especially low income consumers and it's bad for Chinese consumers, especially higher income consumers.

I am stuck underneath the Goethals bridge for the foreseeable future! Here though is a self-serving tidbit from USA Today:

"Recent college graduates lucky enough to nab jobs are earning less, according to the National Association of Colleges and Employers, which said that 2010 graduates' average starting pay was $48,661, down 1.3% from 2009...."

However, "Offers for economics majors rose 2.1% to 50,885; those studying finance got a 0.0% bump to $50,356."

Come and join us!

Seriously, beyond the miniscule differences in starting salaries, and my obvious bias (though I was a business major in college), I believe econ is a much better undergraduate major that finance. Econ BA + Finance MBA is a great combo though.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

There is smog and fog this time of year down in the valley. But up here at UDD, it is beautiful, and usually sunny.

The view from my office window (they made me pose here, usually I am in the position of the camera, looking out from my office): And two of my hosts, Juan Pablo Couyoumdjian and Maria Jose Dominguez, kind enough to pose also. I am apparently somewhat larger than they are.

The wrinkly old men that we elect to Congress are so horny and gross that the American taxpayer shells out on average $1 million a year in settlements to sexually harassed Hill staffers, according to the Office of Compliance. The level of perviness fluctuates from year to year — in 2007, 25 staffers were paid a total of $4 million.

Wouldn't such settlements possibly be of interest to voters, the media, and opponents of the crotch-grabbing perv-boys? It sure would! And that is why Congress passed a law saying that no one can obtain this information! Sure, it's only $1 million. But how can this expenditure of public funds be justified in secret? Read this story from Politico. Amazing. Also not surprising.

It's tough enough working on the Hill. These kids don't make much. And they count their own value, as staff, based on the "size" of their Member. Do we really have to pay, with tax dollars, for those same Members to harrass and grope them? And if we do have to pay, shouldn't we know which Members did it? I am not saying that the identities of the victims be revealed. But why not the identities of the Member whose actions resulted in the settlement? Sure, I realize that the settlements all come with a nondisclosure provision, and a provision denying guilt of the Member. But this is not a criminal proceeding, this is an expenditure of public money.

KPC demands an immediate full accounting of public expenditures, paying hush money to staff! I bet a lot of these old perverts are big "family values" guys, too!

Monday, July 12, 2010

It is quite common, in winter, in Chile to see the sun only ... well... not.

But today: Wow.

The sunset lighting up the foothills, the view out the apartment deck (first rate deck, glassed over, about 1.5 meters by 6 meters, with nice chairs, on a corner overlooking Avenida Apoquindo. The best deck I have ever had in a hotel, I think, because of the view.

Looking south from the balcony:Looking east, toward the econonomic disaster that is Argentina:(Yes, it's more than 100 kilometers to Argentina, but you can smell bad policies a long way off). (UPDATE: A commenter points out that we COULD be smelling Maradonna's coaching. Quite true; Argentina has had many smelly adventures lately, on every front...)

We dined at the apartment tonight. I was excited about camarones, and the excellent local EVOO. At the UniMarc grocery, we found most of what we needed, though they had basically no decent seafood. Got frozen camarones, hoped for the best.

The EYM cleaned the spinach, and I cooked up some pasta. Tri-color penne, with sauteed onions, sliced green chilis, some very nice salty capers, and some beautiful fresh Italian parsley. (How can Chile not have fresh shrimp, but have fresh parsley, in winter?) Lots of beautiful EVOO, from Kardamili. Some Imperator balsamic aceito, and the salad was good to go. (The Imperator balsamic vinegar was a bit sweet, perhaps, but the EVOO was wonderful). The spinach must have been fresh, within one day. Great espinaca. Why?

The shrimp and pasta dish was only okay, because the shrimp were not much. I covered that with ajo and pimienta roja de cayena, and the EVOO helped a lot. If you have great olive oil, spanking fresh parsley, garlic, and green chilis to go with pasta, who needs shrimp? We did manage to choke it down, with a 2009 Concha y Toro Gran Reserva Sauvignon Blanc. Neither of us is a big white wine fan, but when Concha y Toro is $8 bucks U.S., you have to go for it.

The EYM went out after dinner to explore "muchos lugares lejos" on the Metro. He is wearing a silky black MTV jacket. Last night, an overjoyed and overdrunk visiting Spaniard in a pick up truck (really) tried to pick up the EYM. When the EYM politely demurred, the man said, incredulously, "You are dressed like that, and you are not gay?" Maybe Senor Espana can call the Federal Trade Commission, about misleading advertising.

It's a city of 6 million, and the EYM is determined to meet them all. On the subway.

Tomorrow: I ride the Transantiago! I wrote about it, and now I research how things are going on the new bus system. (The "new" bus system had a pretty big role in ensuring the defeat of the previous presidente, so this is a big deal here). El Mercurio even called me, back in 2008, to say, "Isn't our bus system hilarious?" I had to agree, yes, it is.

Mike Schoenfeld, communications god-king of Duke University, was asked if the house where Mungowitz was not raped held any special meaning for the University.

"Who?" said Schoenfeld. Sad, really, that he would pretend that this incident that never even happened had never happened. Typical.

Now, it's true that the problem with identifying the house as the place where Mungowitz was not raped, at least according to some observers, is that there is no reason to stop there. Other people, more famous people, were not raped there. George Washington was never raped in that house. More recently, Mahatma Gandhi was not raped there, on several occasions. In particular, Mr. Gandhi was not raped in the house on December 21, 1978, or any other earlier, or later, nights.

Most recently of all, Chrystal Mangum was not raped at that house.

In fact, we could make a really long list of people not raped there.

So, I hope that the media will start to refering to the house at 610 N. Buchanan Street in Durham as the "house where Mungowitz was not raped," since that is as good an identifier as the ones the media insists on using.

Tyler reviews a book on the rise and fall of Prohibition in the USA, which seems to argue that alcohol was a big problem before prohibition and that the policy "worked" in some sense of the word.

But however besotted turn of the century America was though, it paled before the levels reached by their European forefathers:

Both anecdotal and statistical evidence indicate heavy consumption of alcoholic beverages, heavy over time, heavy over space, and even heavy over social class to a certain extent, although the rich consumed more than the poor.

Three examples of temperance from the sixteenth century make the exceptions that prove the rule. The Venetian Alvise Cornaro promoted temperance in word and deed. He wrote a book, Discourses in favour of a sober life, in which he advocated a diet of extreme renunciation, confirmed by his own example; he drank only not quite .4 of a liter of wine a day, which is more than half a modern bottle of wine.

In The Life of the Duke of Newcastle, written by his wife, the duke received praise for his temperance; she wrote, "In his diet, he is so sparing and temperate, that he never eats nor drinks beyond his set proportion." His set proportion was three glasses of beer and two of wine a day.

The final exception to prove the rule was a temperance society founded at Hesse in 1600. Its members agreed to restrict their drinking to seven glasses of wine with each meal.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Juan Pablo took us to an Argentine restaurant, "Don Carlos," for dinner. Three words: Tree. Men. Dos. Stupendo. Wonderful.

The EYM gets to order the vino tinto (he's 20, drinking age here is 18). He orders a Gran Tarapaca syrah (about $10 the bottle, btw, nice). Waiting for the wine, we order a round of Peruvian-style Pisco Sours. Yum, and here's to you, Senor Pizarro.

For food, we order some sausage, prieta and chorizo, and some terrific empanadas and a round of provoleta (fried cheese with tomatoes). (Yes, prieta is Chilean blood sausage. It is AMAZING. Tyler C., eat your heart out: I had prieta, and you didn't! Just deal with that.)

Then, salads. I wanted paltas (avocado) and we all had some version of tomatoes. The avocado was okay, but not outstanding.

Then, meat. This is an Argentino restaurant, and that means meat. I had wanted goat, which in Mexico is cabrito but here in Chile is called chivito. But they were out, so I had to settle for lamb. Best lamb I have ever had. Tender, grilled and salty, melts in your mouth. Like meat lollipops. Outstanding. The EYM has chicken, and Juan Pablo orders a meal fit for Fred Flintstone: a huge breaded piece of beef, and a vat of papas fritas. He struggles manfully, and defeats the meat, but is lost for the rest of the evening.

The EYM and I, having only NORMALLY overeaten, were ready for postre. And there were some strange desserts. We went for it: The EYM ordered "zapillitos en almibar," which the menu describes as "tiny pumpkins in syrup." WTF? And I ordered "Postre Vigilante," the batata y queso dessert.

The zapillitos en almibar turned out to be delicious, but essentially inedible. Not sure how to describe it. The little squares of pumpkin - sugar reduction were something between the consistency of crytallized honey and fudge, though pumpkin flavored. And they were resting in a thick simple syrup, also pumpkin flavored. One bite and the EYM was saying "yum!" Three bites, and he couldn't eat any more, having lapsed into a hyperglycemic coma.

My sweet potato dessert, slices of thick candied sweet potato on thick slices of cheese, was a classic Argentino dessert. (here, in Spanish). Wonderfully simple, the contrast in textures of cheese and dessert, and the contrast in sweetness and creaminess from the cheese. Very nice.

Then, cappuccino all around. Cappuccino a bit watery, but okay.

Of course, we were watching the finals of la Copa Mundial. The restaurant is only three blocks from the Embassy del Pais de Espana, which was rocking. The game was really quite boring, except for the specialist viewer (pretty much everyone south of Nuevo Laredo). But AFTER the game: the restaurant erupts in cheers, and clapping.

Walking home, past the Spanish Embassy, we could hear the cheering and yelling inside. The hard-eyed caribineros out front almost smiled, I think. People were blowing horns (car horns, though we did see some vuvuzelas sticking out of car windows), and waving Spanish and Chilean flags out the windows of cars and apartments. There was a distinctive celebratory horn blow pattern: Beepbeep... Beepbeepbeep (2, 3, repeated over and over).

I took a movie of the cars on the Avenida Apoquindo. You can hear the horns (this went on for hours, sometimes dozens at once), and you can see, at the end, an entrepreneur selling Spanish national flags. There were dozens of these guys on the street, within minutes of game's end.

And I took a picture out the window of the hotel, looking west on Apoquindo. The light looks funny, because I set the shutter for 1 second because it was getting dark.

On the way home, we noticed a large building, just a bit west of the hotel. Quiet, darkened, high gates. Turns out to be the.... Dutch Embassy. Heh. Heh heh. Maybe the Dutch Ambassador had gone to the party at the Spanish Embassy, to pay off his bet.

The EYM and I are here for the next month, nearly, in Santiago de Chile.

Got in late this morning, after the overnight ick flight from Atlanta to Santiago.

The intrepid Juan Pablo picked us up at the airport, after it took us 2 hours to get through customs. Chile has a rule that they charge visitors the same charge for a "reciprocity" visa that those countries charge Chilenos. Thanks, America, for costing me nearly $300 for "reciprocity," just to enter the country.

Chile is also really paranoid about bringing in food items. So I asked the EYM to make sure that he didn't have any opened food containers, or plant matter, in his luggage. He says, "What about this?"

He holds up a big sandwich baggie full of creamy white powder. He sees the look on my face, and says "What? It's protein powder. Is that bad?" I tell him to throw that away, right away, and walk away quickly. I do NOT want to try to explain to Chilean Customs why we need to bring 100 grams of white powder into the country.

The lines are long, but they move along. When we got to the hotel (Apart Hotel, La Gloria 30, Las Condes), I noticed I was missing....MY BACKPACK! The one that had my laptop, books, and myriad "things of great importance."

Juan Pablo, by this time having graduated from intrepid up to unflinching, drove me BACK to the airport. (The EYM caught 40 winks in the hotel). We got to the airport, and since I knew where I left the backpack (the x-ray booth at the "Nothing to Declare" desk), we tried to get there. But, of course, you can't get there. At all. You can't go back up the cloaca of the "Arriving International" wing, without getting shot (and rightly so, no complaints). But neither could I get back to the TOP of the International Arrivals digestive system, unless I was arriving on a new international flight.

We knocked on a bunch of doors, and tried to find an official who could help us. After knocking for nearly ten minutes on one promising door (it said, "vacated baggage," in English; don't know what that means, but like I said, promising), an august official of the Chilean PDI appeared. Rather, one of his eyes appeared, behind a crack in the door. Juan Pablo explained. PDI guy looks at me and says, "Passport?" I nod, eagerly.

I am ushered in. Left to stand in a corridor for a few minutes. A second PDI fellow, one who spoke no English, appears and escorts me down a hallway to yet a third PDI guy, one who is so important that I think he actually lives in this underground grotto. PDI 3 begins to speak to me rapidamente en espanol. I try to tell him that I don't speak Spanish (though my "don't speak Spanish" is WAY better than my "don't speak German," from last summer). Then, I SEE MY BACK PACK, ON A SHELF, right behind PDI 3! I point to it, and say "Alla! Es mio, el backpack negro!"

PDI 3 is most skeptical. "Es SUYO? Verdad? (What is in it, he asked, I don't remember the Spanish, but I undestood it.)

I answered: "Libros, papeles, laptop computer..."

PDI 3 is overjoyed: "Libros! Son SUYOS?" Takes one out, and before I can see, covers up the cover completely with both hands: "Este libro, que dice?" (What does it say?)

I can't see the book, because he is hiding it. There are ten books in the pack, and so I just cleverly stare at him bug eyed. At this point, I haven't slept in 28 hours, and this seems surreal. Fortunately, I realize that I had put a name tag, with my ...well... name and address, on the backpack, just like checked baggage, just in case. I point to the tag, and say, "Mira! Mi nombre, Mike Munger, Carolina del Norte, como en el passport."

PDI 3 is pleased: a positive ID. He spends (seriously) at least two minutes comparing the info in my passport (name, address) to the info on the tag (name, address). Then he takes the pack over to a giant desk covered with scraps of paper, and digs around. He finds it: a black notebook with looseleaf paper. The paper is full of rubber bands holding together groups of pages, and paper clips and post it notes. He finds a blank space on a page, and writes laboriously in cursive longhand. I peek, and he is writing down the an inventory of the contents of the backpack. Then he writes down my name, address, and passport number, and draws a line for my signature.

Then he asks me to check the backpack, and make sure that none of the contents had been stolen. I had to pick up each item, tell him that it was in the backpack, and then he checked it off his inventory. But, since his inventory was composed ONLY of those things that were in the pack...you see the problem. Still, okay, we were making progress. After all the items in the backpack were checked off as being in the backpack, I signed with a flourish and thanked the man. He called me "Don Miguel" and wished me "buena suerte" and escorted me to...The Customs Area!

As the door closed behind me, I realized that I did not have the paperwork to get through Customs. I had just BEEN through Customs, 90 minutes earlier, and had handed in my paperwork that had been stamped at Immigration Control. Now, all I had was a passport and a backpack. By this time, the morning rush of international flights that crowd Arturo Moreno Benitez airport had long gone. The huge Customs hall had just me, and about 30 customs agents, all staring at me. The place is well lit, and it's hard to act casual in those circumstances.

I decided to play dumb, and just headed for the door, bypassing everything. One guy asked me to stop, and he came over. I showed him my passport, and said, "I forgot my backpack, and came back to get it." He frowned, pointed at the cloaca, and said (in perfect English) "You came back through there?"

"No, no, I came through the vacated luggage office, there." I pointed at the door right behind me, which was in fact where I had come out, and he had seen that.

He asked if I had the arrival papers, and I told him I had just been through Customs 90 minutes ago, and had just come back to get my backpack. I held out my backpack, as evidence (I'm not sure of what, but evidence).

I was sure that my Chilean Maxwell Smart would sneer, and say, "Oh, the old 'I've already been through Customs' trick. They always try that one!" But no, he just said, "Have a good visit. Make sure you go out the main door."

Back to the hotel, a long nap, and then a fine meal with Juan Pablo and the EYM. On which more anon.